


With Fists Aflame

by yellow_craion



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flowers, Gaslighting, Gen, M/M, Mild Language, barely any romance and it's not the focus but there's no & tag for them, lorenzo deserves nice things, very little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 06:55:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19329412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_craion/pseuds/yellow_craion
Summary: a purely self indulgent scene, using a fictional character to work through author's shit xD





	With Fists Aflame

**Author's Note:**

> did we ever get the name of high warlock of madrid?i need a name for him xD from now on I say the high warlock of madrid is a bad dude

Stupid, stupid, stupid fuck!

 

Lorenzo is pacing furiously in his apothecary, a crumpled piece of singed paper still fisted in his palm, as he’s trying to calm down.

 

It’s no use, of course.

 

Stupid! Fucking! Bastard!

 

The High Warlock of Madrid sent him a fire message just under an hour ago, telling him of his major break in his experiment. The thing that Lorenzo, having been under the bastard’s tutelage for decades, was personally involved in.

 

But did the bastard mention that it was Lorenzo’s very own translation of that damn ancient spell book that allowed for High Warlock of Madrid’s solution?

 

No. Of course not.

 

Why bother, when Lorenzo only spent a few months trying to decipher the damn thing!

 

Fucking months!

 

He hoped, now that he became a High Warlock himself, the man would recognize his past contribution, but really, Lorenzo should have known better.

 

Taking credit for somebody else’s work was normal there and it’s one of the many things he carried over with him, when he took over the post in New York. It’s what High Warlocks did, simple as that. It’s something he’s still struggling to unlearn, for fuck’s sake.

 

He looks to different cabinets, his magic tingling at the fingertips, eager to blow something up, but the rational part of his brain that still, thankfully, didn’t leave him yet, is stopping him.

 

Wouldn’t want to blow half the neighborhood.

 

He tries to content with burning the message to ash, and when that’s not enough - he screams. The wards around his home will keep his outburst secret.

 

He screams past the growing lump in his throat, against the sting in his eyes and to drown the words ringing in his ears; the words the message reminded him of.

 

He stomps out of the room, crashing the door against the wall with satisfaction, alternating between yelling and muttering curses and obscenities in any language that comes to mind.

 

Lorenzo got away, to a different continent away, and still the fucking bastard can have that effect on him.

 

With that sad realization, his anger turns from his former master - no, tutor! He’ll be damned if he ever calls the man that word again - toward himself.

 

He’s away. He’s a High Warlock, he’s powerful and successful, so why does he allow his past to affect him so much. He’s tired of being angry and bitter. He’s tired of that old familiar cocktail of emotions the High Warlock of Madrid used to make him feel.

 

Why can’t he just let go?

 

_Stop it, Renzo, nothing happened_

 

_You’re overreacting again, boy_

 

No longer screaming, he just stands there, letting silent tears fall and gasping for breath.

 

He runs a hand through his hair in an unconsciously soothing gesture, and when he tries to smooth it out, he’s startled by a new voice he’s not used to remembering.

 

 _I like your hair_ , Andrew said one evening, getting a look at Lorenzo letting it out in an effort to put it in a new pony tail, after they’d got cozy on the sofa and he’d all but forgot about maintaining a facade.

 

He blinks quickly to clear the tears away, a small shy smile tugging at his lips.

 

With barely any effort at all, he conjures a bouquet of yellow lilies to appear on Andrew’s desk.

**Author's Note:**

> i like lillies and apparently yellow ones mean appreciation / gratitude


End file.
